Helen Brenna - Treasure

“But…but…” she stammered ineffectively, having planned on his presence to distract her.

“Slip fifty-five. The Mañana. Don’t talk to anyone.”

With those orders, he disappeared, leaving Annie alone with her scattered thoughts and foolish insecurities. She stared out the windshield, unsure of how to proceed. A group of seagulls circled in front of the truck and landed by a flattened pile of French fries. The gulls cawed and fought over the fries in the muggy late morning heat.

Absently, she fingered the small charms on her bracelet, and purpose seeped into her fingertips. Thinking wasn’t good. Momentum was good. “I can do this,” she said aloud, her voice reverberating strangely in the cab. “I didn’t bring my butt all the way here only to crawl back to Chicago with my tail between my legs at the first snag.”

Don’t think. Just do it.

In one motion, she climbed out of the truck, slung the duffel over one shoulder and slammed the door. With her head down she took off toward the docks, keeping her sights firmly on land. One glimpse of the ocean and she’d be a goner. Upon leaving the parking lot, she passed a row of weathered boathouses and forced her feet to continue moving, keeping her head up, focusing on anything ahead of her. Four men having quite a heated discussion stood a short distance ahead.

Good. Concentrate on them.

Her feet hit the wooden dock and sensation overwhelmed her. The sound of her shoes on the wood. The noisy seagulls. The boats rocking against the dock. The salty air hitting the back of her throat. The persistent hum of waves crashing against the break wall. They were sounds and smells so familiar on one level and so frightening on another. Memories threatened, and she froze.

The image of the men in front of her swam as her vision blurred. Panic set in. With each labored breath, sweat trickled down her back. Her duffel bag dropped from her shoulder, landing with a thud on the dock. It was all she could do to breathe.

“Need some help there?” One of the men appeared in front of her, while two others stood back several feet, looking rather disgruntled. The fourth seemed to have disappeared.

She beaded in on the red and blue stripes of the first one’s knit polo shirt. The lines cleared. She ventured a look at his face and swallowed a deep breath. It was an attractive face. She took another deep breath. Blond hair. Blue eyes. “That bag looks mighty heavy.” His slow Texas drawl fit right in with the heat and humidity.

She felt her shoulders relax. Talk to him. Talk. “I…I guess the heat’s getting to me more than I expected.”

“Not from around here, huh?” He smiled, his teeth a brilliant white against his tanned skin.

“No.” She blinked, hoping to better focus her vision. “Chicago.”

“Mitch Westburne.”

Though the name sounded familiar, she was too distracted to decipher the connection. “Annie Miller.” If she kept talking to him, maybe she’d be okay.

“Takin’ a little vacation?” Mitch asked.

“Actually, a new job. Marine archaeologist with OEI.”

He cocked his head to the side and laughed. “I don’t believe it. The old codger finally talked him into it!”

“Excuse me?” She did her best to ignore the water surrounding the dock.

“Pardon my manners.” He turned toward the two dark-haired men behind him. “My partner, Manny Carrera, and his associate, Enrique.”

“Ms. Miller.” Manny’s voice sounded smooth, yet laced with a distinctive bite. Enrique only nodded, his scowl deepening with the effort.

“Annie, here, is OEI’s new archaeologist.”

“Is that right?” Manny’s gaze intensified, making her even more uncomfortable.

“I’m going to help her to the Mañana,” Mitch said to his partner. “Meet you back at the Wild Rose?”

“Five minutes.” Manny flipped on a pair of wraparound sunglasses. “Enrique and I’ll be waiting for you.”

Before she could object, Mitch took her bag and walked down the dock. “Follow me.”

“I can take that.” Keeping her focus on the profile of his face, she hurried after him.

“It’s kinda strange having all OEI’s boats in port this time of year,” he said, keeping one step ahead of her. “Must be something big cookin’ in the pot. You folks fixin’ to head out soon?”

“I’m not sure what the plans are.”

“Where ’bouts you headed?”

Her father’s old warnings popped into her head. Never trust anyone. “Oh, they don’t tell me that kind of stuff,” she said. “I’m along for the ride.”

“Treasure hunting’s a nasty business with pirates at every pier.” He glanced back at her and grinned. “Is that it?”

“Something like that.” She smiled, following him.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t spend too much time around Jake Rawlings. Might end up as paranoid as him, and you’re too pretty for that.” He focused on something behind her. “Speakin’ of the devil himself.”

Annie swung around to find Jake folding his arms over his chest. “Hello, Mitch,” he said.

Mitch dropped Annie’s duffel. “Jake.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Accusation tinged Jake’s voice. He looked slowly from Annie to Mitch, making it unclear to which of them the question had been directed.

“Don’t be so touchy. I was only being cordial,” Mitch jumped in, obviously having no difficulty in assuming responsibility. “Your new archaeologist needed some help with her bag.” He enunciated each syllable of her title slowly. “This must be a sizable wreck if you called out the big guns, eh?”

“Completing more surveys. That’s all.”

Annie watched, fascinated, as the two men squared off. Approximately the same height, their eyes met in a silent challenge. Different in appearance as night and day, each man emanated a unique kind of menace.

“Shoot, Jake.” Mitch backed down first. “You still sore about the Anémona? I’m telling you, we’d been researching that site for months. I can show you my aerials. The dates are right on ’em.” He scratched his head. “Or is it Valerie? Man, that was too many years ago to count. Besides, I probably did you a favor. She took me for more than she took you.”

“The Anémona was my find.”

“You know what they say. Early bird gets the worm. Or is it finders keepers, losers weepers? I forget. Man, I didn’t know you could be such a bad sport.”

“What I can’t figure out is why you have to sneak around chasing everyone else’s leads. There’s enough gold out there for all of us. If you can’t find the wrecks on your own, you’re in the wrong business.”

Mitch snorted.

“I don’t know who you bribed for the information on the Anémona, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Good luck,” Mitch said, smiling. “With your surveys, I mean. Miss Annie.” He nodded in her direction. “You watch yourself around this slave-driving fortune hunter. I’ve gotten it from someone close to the source, he just ain’t no fun.” He headed back down the dock.

Jake squinted at her. “Let’s go.” He turned for the boat. “I told you not to talk to anyone. What did you say to him?” The tone of his voice implied he’d judged her guilty.

“Nothing.” Animosity again. Good. She hiked the bag onto her shoulder and trudged after him. That was exactly what she needed to propel her down the dock. “He asked where we’re going, but I’m not an idiot. Who was that, anyway?”

“My ex-business partner.”

“Who’s Valerie?”

“My ex-wife.”

He stated that fact without the slightest bit of emotion. Either he’d completely reconciled his feelings for the woman, or this man had none to begin with. Looking at him now, Annie thought the latter more likely. With his tanned skin and scruffy beard, he looked every inch the pirate suggested by the skull-and-crossbones flag on his Buccaneers baseball cap. That curly black hair of his, hanging dangerously close to the collar of his T-shirt, only added to, rather than softened, his threatening image. Of course, she was forced to admit, he did have a certain he-mannish appeal. And since when had she become the type to notice such a thing, let alone care?